


The Doom of the Noldor

by Sophia_the_Scribe



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Flight of the Noldor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_the_Scribe/pseuds/Sophia_the_Scribe
Summary: The Doom of the Noldor first comes into effect in the separation of kin following Mandos' pronouncement, as experienced by Finarfin brother of Fëanor and Finrod his son.





	The Doom of the Noldor

Finrod son of Finarfin stood alone in the darkness at the edge of camp, just outside the light of the fires. His already-tattered blue cloak whipped in the wind as  tears for his broken people froze on his cheek. Mandos had called his Doom, the Doom that covered all the Noldor who would journey on. He wondered how many would turn back, and who would press forward to certain defeat. For himself, he knew what he must do.

“Finrod!”—a distinctive call from behind him. Idly he considered that in Ennor’s enemy country he would have to be more aware of his surroundings. As it was, he recognized Finarfin’s voice and turned to him.

“Father. You…” He read the look of mingled resignation and determination, under the ever-present layer of sorrow and horror. “You are leaving. You are going back.”

“Yes.” A flash of pain in his father’s eyes coincided with the simple answer.

“They will not understand.” He could not see his siblings, uncles, or cousins agreeing with his father’s choice, or even considering the reasoning behind it.

“No. Especially Artanis.” Finarfin gave a pained grimace, as he thought of his only daughter’s pride that both he and Finrod feared would be her downfall. “But I cannot do aught else. We have sinned, Finrod. I cannot continue in this rebellion. My conscience compels me to return to the Máhanaxar and plea for pardon, for myself, and for our people. Can you not return with me, my son?”

Finrod had feared this question, and turned slightly away from his father as he replied rather stiffly, to cover his tears,

“I cannot, Father, much as I might wish to.”

“You cannot?” Finarfin choked on his anguish mingled with unexpected wrath. “Forget your stubbornness, Finrod! The Noldor have nothing left to be proud of.”

“I may at least be proud that I did not abandon my people in their need!”

A silence settled between the two golden-haired elves like the falling sleet, as each sought to control his angered sorrow. At last Finarfin sighed, barely to be heard above the wind,

“I am sorry. I know it is not pride that comples you on. But let us at least not part in anger.”

“I as well, Father. That was unjust of me.”

Again conversation lapsed, as father and son brooded. This time Finrod broke the silence.

“Have you told the others?”

“Yes. I hoped, that by speaking with you last, I could farewell my family in mutual blessing.”

Finrod’s tenuous hold on his emotions was nearly broken by this open admission of Finarfin’s faith in him, and he choked out,

“Thank you, Father. I am glad our people will have you to follow back to Tirion, and I pray the Valar guard and guide you, and that you find what you seek at your journey’s end.”

“And you, Finrod my son,” Finarfin spoke with authority, gripping Finrod’s shoulder, “I leave lord of my people of the Noldor. Lead them with all the wisdom and skill you have learned at the feet of the Valar. I commend you on your journey and through your peril to Oromë the Hunter and Tulkas the Valiant, and I pray that wherever your path may lead the stars of Elentári light your way.”

“And yours, Father.” Finally releasing his tears, Finrod sank one last time into his father’s arms, bitterly ruing the circumstances that forced them apart.

All too soon Finarfin knew he must leave and drew back from the embrace, kissing his son on the brow and saying, with a flash of foresight,

“Farewell, Finrod Felagund! May you rule long and wisely in Beleriand, until an oath of love call you to your final fate!”

With a muted swish of heavy silk Finarfin turned from his son and strode away, never once looking back.

Bowing his head as the wind lashed his hair across his face, Finrod whispered to the shadows,

“Namárië, Atar. Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië.”

**Author's Note:**

> Finrod's final line (minus the "Atar") is taken from Galadriel's Quenya lament in the Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter VIII "Farewell to Lórien" (pp. 368-9 in the Houghton-Mifflin edition). It translates, "Farewell (Father). Maybe thou shalt find Valinor. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell."


End file.
